Call Of Duty Zombies - The Complete Chronicles
by EdLoad
Summary: With the release of the final map in the epic story-line that has spanned 3 games, 5 years and 16 maps, this is the complete story of CoD Zombies – from Nacht Der Untoten to Origins. Join Tank, Takeo, Nikolai, Richtofen, Misty, Marlton, Stuhlinger, Russman and more on their quest for survival in the post-apocalyptic world. Includes alternate ending, to replace Treyarch's.
1. A Nacht to Remember, Part I

**A Brief Introduction**

This fanfic, when completed, will be no small feat. With 16 maps to get through, and so many characters (over 40 in total) to introduce, I am certainly stretching myself considering this is my first fanfiction! Feedback and ratings are always appreciated, and there is always free warm milk, cookies and unending love for any constructive advice you guys can muster!

So here is the plan: there are 16 maps in total (Dead Ops Arcade will not feature, due to its differences with the rest of the maps), and storyline I plan to take will be based of the Easter Eggs found in respective maps, as well as a bit of creative license here and there. Oh, and the ending that is featured in Origins is so awful, I plan to create my own to satisfy myself and anybody else out there seeking it.

For those who are interested, the map order in which they will be featured in this story are as follows:

Nacht Der Untoten  
Shi No Numa  
Der Riese  
Kino Der Toten  
Verrückt  
"Five"  
Ascension  
Call of the Dead  
Shangri-La  
Moon  
Nuketown Zombies  
Green Run  
Die Rise  
Mob of the Dead  
Buried  
Origins  
The Ending

So, I hope you enjoy, and remember, feedback is very much appreciated!

All the best,

EdLoad

**Boring disclaimer stuff:**

**_I, EdLoad, hereby swear that I do not own Dempsey, Takeo, Nikolai, Richtofen, Misty, Marlton, Russman, Stuhlinger, Maxis, Samantha, nor any of the other main characters that feature both in a Treyarch title and my humble story. Call of Duty: World at War, Black Ops and Black Ops II and all their respective zombie maps all belong to Treyarch and Activision, and certainly not me. Oh, and I like cookies. Can I have a cookie?_**

**1 – A Nacht To Remember, Part I**

**Date: 1****st**** February, 1945  
****Location: Unknown**

Corporal Tank Dempsey was no stranger to hangovers, but he had never had one like this. Headaches the morning after a bottle of vodka were one thing, but the sensation that equalled having been smashed over the head with the emptied bottle afterwards was something else entirely. He closed his eyes again, letting his head rest back on the cold stone floor, his left ear resting on the half-dead vine that snaked its way hesitantly up the wall.

"Wait – stone floors? We don't have those in our bunkers. And how is there surviving plant life on the front line?"

Suddenly awake, Tank, opened his now-alert eyes to assess the situation. But with a sudden jolt to launch himself into an upright position, all he managed to find was the forehead of a curious soldier who had leant over him in concern. In surprise at the sudden reanimation of his comrade, the man uttered a phrase that Tank recognised as unmistakably one language.

"Russian", he swore under his breath, fearing the worst. A foolish night out, getting stoned on vodka, and then his loud mouth picking a fight with the few Russians that had been circling the camp for weeks was what Tank guessed to have transpired, although he had no memory of it. But the Russian, much to Dempsey's surprise, replied in a curious, almost amiable voice. "American?" came the inquiry in fluent, although accented English.

Tank sighed. "Look, whatever happened last night", began Dempsey, "I'm sorry, it was a misunderstanding, I'm sure we can come some kind of…" but before Dempsey could finish his apology, the Russian interrupted with a hearty laugh. "My friend, I do not know who you are, but you can rest assured that we have no quarrel. For I have no recollection of anything that happened last night, or earlier, but I am not one to get into fights with Americans. Of course, if you do indeed recall what has brought us to this strange place…"

With this Dempsey relaxed a little. "Good, no fights. I can work with that." He looked at his new neighbour, and the Russian's claim to pacifism appeared to be valid. For although he had a soldier's build – broad shoulders, muscled arms and a hard, war-scarred face, his eyes were friendly, as well as appraising. Despite his friendliness, however, it seemed that he had about as much recollection of recent events that led them to being here as Dempsey.

"Sorry, no clue, Mr, er…"

"Belinski, Nikolai Belinski", he offered helpfully.

"Well, Mr Belinski, I'm sure we'll be able to figure this one out very soon", Tank offered a quick smile, and, much to his credit, despite being in this very strange situation, Nikolai smiled back. With an acknowledging nod and having given his name in return, the two slowly pushed themselves to their feet, Tank stretching the stiffness out of his limbs.

Looking round, the two found themselves in a relatively large, yet relatively low-roofed dilapidated room, with stone on all sides, floor and ceiling. The room clearly had been abandoned a while ago: folders and their contents lay spilt on the floor, their shelves overturned or collapsed; vines and moss clung onto any surface they could grace; where windows had once been there were now nothing more than a few hastily nailed planks of rotting wood; and debris lay scattered everywhere, blocking most routes out of the room. Through the gaps in the wall Dempsey could see the large, pale yellow moon begin its ascent over the fog that hugged the swampy earth underneath. The ground was the type that was often used for growing crops nowadays, although this specific patch had yet to be cultivated. Only one closed door indicated an entry and exit point to the room, which now suddenly burst open, startling both the American and the Russian. The near-unhinging of the door heralded the arrival of a rather dishevelled, tall but lean man, rocking a toothbrush moustache, a modified Mauser pistol (although not one Dempsey recognised), and an unmistakable uniform.

"German," swore Nikolai and Dempsey in unison under their breath. How had they managed to end up in the same place as the enemy?

"Ah, Mr. Dempsey, Mr. Belinski. I see you are awake at long last." The tousled German gave them a smile, although this was not returned. The two tensed at the mention of their names. "What do you want with us, scum? How did you find out our names?" The two soldiers instinctively began to reach for their guns, expecting conflict. Dempsey felt reassured that his beloved M1911, which he had affectionately named "Mustang" back in training camp, had not been confiscated.

A brief look of confusion flashed across the German's face, but was quickly replaced by his infuriating smile. "At ease, my friends. You will have plenty of opportunity to use your beloved guns later. Now, if you truly do not remember anything, perhaps this will kick-start you memory. My name is Dr. Edward Richtofen, leader of Group 935. Sound familiar?"

Dempsey heard Nikolai's pistol slowly cock. He decided to the same. "Not in the slightest," he growled. In one well practiced manoeuvre, Mustang was lifted from its holster and into a position where its sights were aligned towards the dubious doctor. He smiled in satisfaction as he noticed that Nikolai had done the exact same simultaneously. "You're outnumbered and outplayed, German. Now you have ten seconds to show us the exit."

"Typical American behaviour, shoot first, ask later". Suddenly, both pistols were aimed at a dark corner of the room instead, where an until-now unnoticed body lay leaning against the wall. As if resurrected, the body slowly rose from the darkness of the corner, and walked forwards, where a hole in the roof let in the moonlight, illuminating his face all to see.

"Guns down, fools. Back in the holster," hissed the angry Japanese soldier. Dempsey found himself disliking the arrogant tone in his voice. With guns from all four soldiers aimed at one another, Dempsey and Nikolai had no choice but to relent. As all barrels were lowered, the tension that had been prevailing as thick as the American custard rations greatly distilled, but there were still many suspicious eyes glancing from face to face. Silence followed for a few, long moments.

At length, the Doctor [what was his name? Richtofen, that was it], broke the quiet.

"Well, my friends, you are all understandably confused as to how you have arrived at this bizarre place. There will be time for explanation later, I assure you, but for now you will have to make do with the assurance that you are all here of your own free will."

"And where would here be exactly?" asked Nikolai.

"An abandoned airfield in South Germany, my friend. It used to belong to the air force, but was left in disrepair after it was deemed too costly to maintain. But, I digress. Indeed, you are all members of Group 935, which is a force fighting a war entirely separate to the one raging just 25 kilometres east of here."

"And what might that be exactly?" asked Dempsey, still distrustful of the rather doubtful claim that an American, a Russian, a German and a Japanese soldier had all formed an alliance. Sounds more like a bad joke than anything, he thought.

Richtofen grimaced slightly. "It is perhaps better if you see for yourself, if you truly do not remember." Spinning on his heels, the German waltzed back into the other room, motioning for the others to follow. Giving a quick glance to each other, the unlikely trio decided that there was not much other choice, and reluctantly followed him.

Dempsey gave the Japanese man a quick once-over as he fell in line behind him. The tall, mid-twenties soldier was slim, but in an athletic manner. His build coupled with uniform that Dempsey recognised from past encounters indicated him to be an honoured samurai – one blessed and employed by the emperor himself. The badge that he wore on his left shoulder represented his distinction at a certain battle – it took Dempsey a few moments to realise which one.

"Mukden… you were at Mukden," he whispered quietly.

The man turned round sharply, his face betraying signs of surprise. "Indeed, American. I am impressed. I led the samurais that broke the Russian defence lines, and afterwards was tasked by the emperor to investigate matters here, in Europe. How do you recognise this badge?"

"A friend once introduced me to the Japanese honour system… Here, I have his photo…" Dempsey reached down to pull out his wallet, which contained not money but all the photos that he had brought to the front line. His pockets, however, came away empty. Dempsey swore silently. They must have fallen out at some point, most likely on his journey to this strange place. What bothered him was not the loss of the genuine leather pouch, although it had cost him more than he cared to tell his wife, however, but the loss of his only photo of his daughter that he had kept. Now, with that final photo lying in some muddy ditch somewhere in South German, if the German was to be believed, Dempsey had nothing but his memory to remind himself of his family.

Still mourning the loss of his wallet, Tank exchanged names with Takeo, the Japanese samurai, and followed the others into the next room, which feature-wise was not dissimilar to the room they had just left. There, the Doctor had already begun speaking.

"As I was saying, this is an abandoned airfield, where we were hoping to scavenge for fuel for our plane before making the long trip away. It appears, however, that we have been unable to outrun the infestation, and we shall have to clear this area out before continuing onwards, lest we are attacked while refuelling."

"An infestation of what, might I ask?" Takeo beat the other two to asking the question.

Dr. Richtofen sighed. "You three truly do not remember, do you?" With one final look round in case any memories surfaced in any of the three soldiers, the German finally said, "My friends, for 3 months Group 935 has been battling and exterminating any reported cases of reanimated corpses. Friends, we are fighting the undead."


	2. A Nacht to Remember, Part II

**2 – A Nacht To Remember, Part II**

_"Friends, we are fighting the undead"._

At first they had laughed. The three, the American, the Russian and the Japanese, had pointed at the German, and congratulated him on almost convincing them. "Very good, with the abandoned hangar, the cracks, the night time setting… Very good indeed," they had said. Then they had noticed the German's expression. It was one they all recognised.

The face was a toxic mixture of pain, embarrassment, frustration and despair – only encountered when a serious statement had not been taken seriously enough. And the three soldiers had stopped laughing. In the sudden silence that had followed, they began to hear the noises. Quiet moans, distant wailing that grew closer – and louder.

"Fools!" Richtofen had said, "You have disturbed them. Now they are coming. Prepare yourselves!" As he lifted his Mauser, he motioned for the others to do the same.

1 hour into fighting the rotting hunks of living dead, the joke didn't seem so funny anymore.

When they had run out of ammunition in their pistols – which had not taken long at all – they were forced to resort to their knives, which seemed perfectly fine to Takeo, being the samurai he was, but the others did not enjoy the feeling of stinking bodily fluids being squirted all over their uniforms. After a while, Richtofen ordered the others to hold them back whilst he tried to move the debris that was obstructing their access to the rest of the stone hangar.

By the time the German Doctor had created a gap large enough for them to squeeze through, the others were drenched in nauseating liquids.

"Gah! You better have a mighty good excuse for slacking off while we get up to our necks in freak juices, soldier!" Dempsey yelled as his knife plunged into the torso of yet another undead being. The zombie gave one last weak swipe at the American's uniform, and fell to its knees, before collapsing into an unrecognisable heap on the floor, joining its comrades.

The German gave Dempsey the curious and arrogant look that, until now, Dempsey had thought only inherent in cats around the world. "Of course I do, my friend. Now, everyone, would you follow me?"

The four used a lull in the action to squeeze, one by one, through the gap and up the stairs, to the second and top floor in the hangar. The room up here was very similar to the two the soldiers had already encountered on the ground floor – stone walls, moss and dirt strewn all over the place. It was wooden table, rotting and with a leg missing, and indeed the wooden crates that surrounded it, that immediately attracted the four soldier's attentions.

Dempsey's eyes went wide, as if he were back in Mrs Goodwin's sweetshop on the high street in Hanford, his home town. "Now this is what I'm talking about!" he yelled in excitement as his eyes darted from one treat to the next. M1A1s, STGs, .44 Magnum revolvers, Thompsons, MP40s, and Dempsey's personal favourite: a Browning Automatic Rifle, or BAR. The wooden crates were filled with ammunition for all the guns on the table, as well as M24 Stielhandgranates, German grenades with a wooden pole at one end for easier throwing. "Big toys for the big boys!" he continued - he could have sworn he even heard Nikolai respond "Hoorah" under his breath in excitement.

Richtofen gave himself a silent, self-indulgent smirk. "I promised you, my friends, that this would be worth it." He picked up a well-oiled STG, found a suitable magazine, and readied the gun by chambering the first round. He also bent down and picked up 4 hand grenades from a wooden box that lay under the table, lined with old newspaper cuttings for safer transport. He motioned for the others to do the same.

The new influx of firepower sustained the group's fighting morale for another hour, but soon Dempsey began to notice signs of fatigue amongst them all, although minor at first. A messier swipe of a knife by Takeo, a shot from Dempsey's BAR that hit the shoulder when he was aiming for the head, a grenade that fell a bit short of its intended target.

When the others too began to notice this, they raised their concerns to Richtofen, who at the present time was the only one who seemed to really know why they were here. He fired one more shot from his revolver towards a zombie that was entering through the door way before he started speaking. The zombie's head exploded into a sticky black mist.

"There is fuel in the room to the right of this one. Grab it, then make your way towards the back hangar. The plane is halfway along the runway. Hurry!"

The four grabbed as many of the rusty tin fuel cans as they could from the room Richtofen had indicated, and fought their way towards the exit. With only one hand free, and their balance struggling against the weight of the fuel, the accuracy on their pistols – which was all they could wield whilst carrying the fuel – was very poor. Dempsey was more concerned about getting accidentally shot by one of his new-found colleagues than being attacked by the slow moving zombies.

When they had at length made it out of the hangar, all four were struggling under the weight of the fuel cans. Richtofen looked back at the zombies crawling out of every window and crack of the hangar, concerned. "There is no way we will be able to refuel the plane before they reach us. We need to stop their advance!"

Dempsey turned round, and saw that the German had a point. Even with all their scavenged weaponry, there was no way they would be able to stop the advance of the wall of zombies that was limping towards them as one giant lumbering beast. He looked around – the airstrip was open, with more of that marshy field all around them, and save for a few small stripling trees, minimal cover. The hangar itself almost seemed to be heaving under the weight of all the zombies that were crawling out of every orifice, often clambering over each other in the tighter squeezes. The pillars and support struts that held up much of the building was beginning to creak and crack under the weight, but they were sturdy enough to withstand it. This, however, gave Dempsey an idea.

"Kill the zombies that are already out of the building, just try not to shoot me!" he yelled at Takeo and Nikolai, who were taking positions beside the plane while Richtofen fuelled it. Dempsey took off down the runway, towards the zombies. Takeo and Nikolai just stared at each other, trying to figure out what the foolhardy American was hoping to accomplish. Then they just shook their heads in disbelief, and began to fire in well-aimed, controlled bursts.

As Dempsey neared the hangar, he pulled a grenade from his holster and pulled the cord, igniting the fuse. He now had four seconds to aim and throw the grenade before it exploded in his hands. Fortunately, his experience and muscular arms meant he was able to pitch the grenade well, arching it gracefully and nestling it in the corner of one of the three support pillars that held up this end of the hangar. A second soon followed, also thrown with enough accuracy to cripple the pillar, sending stone fragments into nearby flesh and destroying the pillar itself.

"One more to go," thought Dempsey as he lined up his last and readied grenade to throw at the central pillar. He failed, however, to notice the zombie that had come up onto him from his flank, and which now swiped at Dempsey just as he threw the grenade. It fell horribly short, and also well off target, and Dempsey in surprise was knocked to the ground.

As the zombie fell on top of him, he got his first proper close-up with a zombie – although it was not a meeting he had been looking forward to. Before being resurrected, the man had clearly been a handsome looking youth, no more than mid-twenties. Now, however, his putrefying flesh and decaying facial features had somewhat lessened his good looks. It was the eyes that caught Dempsey's attention, however. Where the pupils and iris had once been, there was now a lifeless glowing yellow light, that appeared to come from inside the head. Had it not been for the terrifying situation Dempsey was stuck in, he may have wondered where the light actually came from, but he was preoccupied with the thought of his face being slowly ripped apart by an undead monster.

As the creature reared its head, preparing to bite on Dempsey's exposed neck, a shot rang out and its neck exploded into stinking black chunks, peppering the soldier with rotting black residue. The now-separated head fell to the tarmac a few metres away from its body, and continued to writhe and groan for a few seconds before the yellow lights went out. As Dempsey pushed himself up by his elbows, he saw Nikolai wielding the only gun with a high enough calibre to blow the zombies head off – a PTRS-41. He was just grateful that the Russian was sober enough to shoot the right target; he had only known Nikolai for 2 hours, but his breath gave Dempsey a large enough alcohol kick for a hangover the next day. Grateful, he gave the Russian an acknowledging nod. Nikolai begrudgingly returned it.

As Tank slowly made his way back towards the rather flimsy looking triplane that Richtofen was still fuelling, he realised that he had not accomplished his goal. Looking back, the middle pillar of the hangar still stood firm, barely keeping the back wall of the hangar upright. Patting his holster, he realised he was out of grenades, and even if he had any left, he was too far away to throw them.

Takeo seemed to sense the disappointment in Dempsey's failure, a grabbed a hand grenade himself. "Stand back!" he ordered the American, who was still making his way back to his comrades. In one graceful lunge, he tossed the grenade down the runway, much in the manner of the knives and axes in which Dempsey knew samurais were skilled in the art of throwing. The grenade sailed over 40 metres down the runway before disappearing from Dempsey's line of sight behind the zombies, who were continuing the crawl out of the hangar. The only indication of where the grenade had landed was the unmistakable crack as it detonated, pushing pieces of heated shrapnel out from the centre, and deep into the pillar it had landed against. With no stable support holding this side of the building up, the whole wall fell down and inwards, crushing the zombies beneath and preventing any more from coming through.

"Good shot!" Dempsey exclaimed admirably. Takeo merely grimaced in satisfaction and returned to see how the fuelling was progressing.

When the remaining zombies had been cleared up by Nikolai and Dempsey, Richtofen announced that the plane was ready to fly, and instructed them all to take positions inside. With everyone on board, the German clambered up to the controls, and began to start the plane up. Dempsey heard him swear quietly, then saw him turn back towards them.

"Takeo! I need you to jump down and manually spin the propeller!"

When Takeo had done so, he jumped back in, and the plane began its lumbering run towards lift-off. Again, Richtofen turned round and indicated to a small box that was lying on one of the vacant seats.

"There are some special drinks inside there to help you through the journey – it may get a little rough up here!"

Nikolai, the closest to the box, reached over and pulled it onto his lap. Opening it, his eyes glinted with pleasure. "Ah! At least the Germans know that we Russians like to drink!" He pulled a bottle out of the crate, which contained a mystery red liquid, and handed one each to Takeo and Dempsey. He was about to ask what the drink was, but Richtofen must have anticipated such a question.

"A special home-brew of eggnog, my friends! Drink up and enjoy!"

The three in the back looked at each other, then Dempsey shrugged and opened the bottle. "Well, you only live once," he thought, then chugged half the bottle down in one go. Nikolai downed the entire drink, whilst Takeo took a more cautious sip, then realised he needed some drink after their ordeal, and took a more hearty gulp.

The drink settled well in Dempsey's cold stomach, and soon he was overcome with a familiar warm feeling. As he settled down to close his eyes for a while, he just hoped that the next time he woke up with a hangover, it would be in more pleasant circumstances.

It may have just been the effects of the drink, but he could have sworn the last thing he saw before he drifted to sleep was an American flag, flying in the wind next to the hangar. He considered for a moment that Richtofen may have been lying about their location – but he could not think of a reason as to why he would do so.

So instead, he went to sleep.

Richtofen turned around to make sure that the other three were sleeping soundly, and that they had secured themselves. He sighed. He just hoped that he had put in the correct dosage of sleeping drug into the drinks. He took a swig from his own, unlaced Juggernog (as he had decided to entitle it), and hoped there was also the correct dosage of 115 in each drink as well.

Else, there would be bigger problems than sleeping soldiers to contend with on the journey. And fighting "turned" passengers whilst flying a triplane was not on his priority list of thing to do.

He settled in for the long haul.

**So, what do you guys think? Alright? I appreciate any feedback, and am beginning work on the next chapter. At the moment, I do not have a publishing schedule to stick by, but I think it may be a good idea to introduce one in the future. Hope you enjoyed, and until next time!**

**Next stop: Shi No Numa :)**

**"Keep calm, and don't let your meat loaf eat you"**

**All the best,**

**- EdLoad**

_**P.S. I am sticking to international English spelling for the moment, so words such as metre, centre and fuelling are spelt as such. With enough requests, I guess I will switch to American English, but I shouldn't think it will pose to much of a problem.**_


	3. The Land of the Rising Dead

**The Land of the Rising Dead**

**Date: 27****th**** April, 1945**

**Location: Rising Sun Facility, Japan**

"So how long do we plan on staying here?"

"As long as it is safe, my friend," Richtofen replied, as he placed two pairs and a lonely 10 of spades down on the table, "which hopefully will be a long time indeed."

Takeo Masaki, a former Japanese samurai and Imperial warrior, nodded in reply. Across the room, hunched over a bench oiling his beloved M1911, Tank Dempsey snorted. "A long time! In that case, we better get some better weather soon then. We've only been here four weeks and five of my shirts have seen so much sweat they have holes in them."

Leaning against the wall, staring at a bottle of Japanese sake, Nikolai Belinski could only agree. Winters were long and gruelling in the Motherland, but when you were cold you could simply wear more layers, stoke the fire higher. Here, in the unbearable heat and humidity of the swamp, your body tried to sweat, but the water refused to leave your skin. So you just ended up drenched instead.

Trying to ignore the heat, the Russian went back to staring at the half-peeled label of the bottle until his eyes began to unfocus. He thought, for the twentieth time, over what the mysterious German doctor had told them about the zombies that they had first encountered in that dark airplane hangar. The German – Richtofen – had said that the primary source that caused the dead to rise up and reverse their fates was the presence of a certain element – which was it? 115? – and that this element primarily came from outer-space meteors crashing down onto Earth. Which concerned Nikolai, and no doubt the others, since the facility at which the four were staying at the moment was less than 50 metres away from one such meteor.

Thanks to this, Richtofen had said, outbreaks of the undead were few and far apart at the moment, but the main concern was if the zombies were to reach a densely populated area – a town, or worse at a large city – and the contagion were to spread. At the moment – he had continued – it was not yet known if whatever caused the zombies to rise could be spread, but it was not a chance they could take. So that was why the four were here, in this godforsaken humid hellhole, watching the meteor fragment and waiting for an outbreak.

Nikolai couldn't help feeling they were asking for trouble.

Across the upper floor of the wooden shack, Tank Dempsey was thinking too. He was, however, tired of thinking about where the zombies came from, and indeed why they should do so, and instead was recounting the past two months of his life. After they had escaped from that nightmarish abandoned hangar in Germany and flown out of the country, the three passengers in the plane – Nikolai, Takeo and himself – had fallen asleep, while the German had manned the controls. When he and his fellow soldiers had awoken, they were still secured in the plane, but the plane itself was firmly grounded.

Acknowledging the others, Tank undid his harness and jumped down from the plane, quietly crunching the light dusting of snow beneath his combat boots.

"Snow? Now where are we?" he asked out loud, to no one in particular.

"Mother Russia, my friend!" came the voice from behind him. Tank spun round, to the sight of the crazy German doctor walking back to the plane, clutching a large metal pot. Richtofen had looked more fatigued than the last time they had met, but otherwise still with the same disconcerting smile on his long face.

"I brought you some of that strange brown drink you American's love… What is it called in English again?"

"Ditchwater? Undead juices? Dysentery?"

Richtofen ignored the jibe, and continued speaking.

"Coffee! Yes, that is it. In any case, we have arrived in Moscow, where we shall stop shortly for supplies and ammunition, before we board the railway and head east."

At the mention of Moscow, Nikolai raised his head. "Russia, you say? Then we must move quickly, comrade, for I have been exiled from the Motherland. If I am caught, they will undoubtedly execute me."

"Fear not, my friend," Richtofen responded, "it shall only be a brief stop, and we will avoid areas of high traffic. In any case, I realise it has been a while since you have been in Russia, and I doubt anyone will be able to recognise you."

Nikolai appeared to consider his options for a second, and then slowly nodded. "Very well then. But I must ask, you mentioned that we will head east. I know of only one route out of Moscow that heads east, and it travels deep into rural Siberia."

Richtofen smiled. "You are correct, my friend, we shall be boarding the Trans-Siberian Railway and journey through Siberia. When we reach the end of the line, we shall take a ferry and enter Japan."

Now it was Takeo's turn to perk up with attention. "To Japan, you say, German?"

"Indeed. There we shall seek refuge whilst we consider our options."

At this point Dempsey had stepped in. "Now, just hold on a second, German. I wake up in an abandoned aircraft hangar with a Russian soldier and a Japanese, with no memory of how or why I am there, and then, having met a psychopathic German doctor, am promptly attacked by a horde of the living undead, and, having risked my life to save your sorry ass, am them given a bizarre cocktail of drugs, including, might I add, SLEEPING MEDICINE, and have been involuntarily flown to RUSSIA, where I am expected to follow the man who drugged me and travel to JAPAN, where GOD KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO ME, and you," at this point Dempsey took a breath, "SCUMBAG, EXPECT ME TO COMPLY?"

Richtofen gave a pained expression. "My friend, I sympathise with your strange situation here, and your anger and suspicion is fully understandable. All I ask of you is to trust me one last time, and I shall attempt to explain all on the journey to Japan. If it helps at all, I assure you that you came to the hangar of your own free will, even if you have no memory of it, and that me, you, indeed all four of us, are members of a group, unlikely allies in a war against the undead."

"935," Dempsey recalled from Richtofen's last mention of the mysterious group they had apparently joined. The anger began to diffuse out of him. He sighed in defeat. The whole ordeal of waking up in an unknown location and fighting the supernatural had put him on edge. Damn, he needed that coffee.

He looked around at the others. Nikolai and Takeo had expressions that told Dempsey they had similar concerns to him, but were keeping their mouths shut to see how the American would handle the situation. He turned to face Richtofen.

"All right then, German. Don't make me regret this."

The journey on the Trans-Siberian Railway – the longest continuous rail track in the world – had been mercifully uneventful. During the 12 day trip, the four had used the time to get to know each other better, and recount tales of times long gone. Like Dempsey, Nikolai and Takeo both claimed to have no memory of how they had arrived at the hangar, where the four had first met, or why they were there. Richtofen had skittishly avoided the question, claiming similar amnesia, but his eyes told Dempsey that he was clearly hiding something – since his youth, Dempsey had been an expert at reading eyes and what lay behind them, a trait particularly useful when conversing with the men under his command. At the time, Dempsey had been too tired to raise the issue any further, but later he had confided with Takeo, who had similar concerns.

"Indeed," the samurai had said, "the German is clearly concealing the truth behind his thin veil of lies, but we will have to play along for now, lest we put ourselves in danger." Dempsey, reluctantly, had agreed.

The four had also used the time to give a history of themselves to the others. Nikolai told of his scandal with his fifth wife, who had died whilst cleaning his axe with her neck, and how it was later revealed that she was a high ranking party official. He recounted the stories of his exile from the motherland, and how he had, at length, found himself in Northern France.

Takeo had been a distinguished samurai leader, and had led his men in many a battle – as was indicated with the numerous badges sewn onto his uniform. After climbing the ranks and receiving attention by none other than the emperor himself, he had been tasked to investigate reported occurrences in Western Europe of mysterious happenings. His search had led him to Northern France.

Then it was Dempsey's turn. He knew of the tales that had circulated the American camps of him – his capture at the battle of Pelelui, his imprisonment and subsequent torture, his daring escape by gnawing through the bars of his bamboo cage, and then killing 12 guards with nothing but a hairpin on the way out. In fairness, most of the rumours were true – it just annoyed Dempsey that it was said he had killed 12 guards. That was completely inaccurate.

He had killed 25.

Even Richtofen had narrated a little of his past to the others. "Beware the Doctor", they used to say in Germany – Richtofen's butchery skills were infamous across the country, and it certainly wasn't pork chops he was slicing. He and a colleague of his – Dr. Maxis – had formed and led an experimental group dubbed "Group 935", who were investigating the properties of Ununpentium, element 115, which Maxis had discovered years previously. When Maxis had died – Richtofen had not elaborated on the details – the German Doctor had taken full leadership of the group, and continued investigating the element's properties, along with its unusual, and frankly terrifying, ability to resurrect the dead.

When the train had, after 12 days, arrived at its final destination, the four had disembarked, along with all the supplies that they had gathered in Moscow, and taken a ferry into Japan. Again, the journey had been mercifully peaceful, and gave the four time to think and consider their situation. When they had docked, Takeo had seemed happy to have returned to his native land, but the other three had never been Japan before. The samurai seemed keen to give them a tour of the capital as well as the more rural areas, but Richtofen had other plans. Much to Takeo's dismay, the German had insisted that the four travel immediately to the abandoned Rising Sun Facility, deep in the swamplands, were they would have to wait out the days, observing the strange, heavenly rock that had fallen 50 metres away.

73 days later, they had barely moved.

There must have been something in the air that day, for Edward Richtofen was thinking too. Or maybe everyone was just bored out of their minds. He couldn't blame his comrades – he had dragged them to this sweatbox over two months ago, and in that time next to nothing had happened. But he knew they had to stay put, and just hope.

Hope that they wouldn't come. That she wouldn't find them.

They were getting on well enough, considering the circumstances. True, there had been disagreements – Nikolai and Takeo hadn't taken much of a liking to each other, and Dempsey was still suspicious of Richtofen's plans – but considering how the four had met, they lived a relatively peaceful coexistence.

Peaceful. Hah, Richtofen hadn't used that word in a while. Not since that night…

"Glad you still remember, Eddie."

Richtofen froze. No. "What do you want?" he whispered in a dark, angry tone. When suddenly all eyes were on him, he realised that he had spoken out loud. Spoken out loud to a voice that was in his head.

"I see you've made some new friends, Eddie. Care to introduce them to me?" the voice became more distorted, more hateful, every time Richtofen had heard it. But it still retained that unmistakable tone. The tone of young girl.

"Well then, Eddie. What's it going to be? Will you introduce them? Or shall I DO IT MYSELF?"

From the fact that the three promptly almost jumped out of their own bodies in terror, it seemed Samantha had made the decision for him.

"Hello everyone. I see you have already met my friend Eddie here. Oops, did I say friend? I guess I mean WORST ENEMY." All four of them flinched at the sudden outburst. "Scared, are we? Wondering how I got inside your heads? Well, save your terror for later. For it's coming to your door right now."

In the pause that followed, all four heard the unmistakable groans and wails that they had not heard for three months. The voice was right. Now they were scared.

"We shall talk later. Oh, and have you met my friend Fluffy? He used to be the most adorable puppy. He's all grown up now. I'm sure you'll be the best of friends." The voice gave a laugh that was enough to even make Nikolai, the man who Stalin could not look in the eye, feel a chill in him that he had not felt for a very long time. "Bye BYE!"

The four stared at each other for a second, trying to comprehend what had just occurred. The smell and the sounds coming from outside the shack soon jolted them back to reality, though. Questions would have to be postponed until later. Which was fine by Dempsey, whose face suddenly found its presumed KIA ability to break into a huge smile. "Let's get to work, boys."

A couple hours later, and the four could only agree it was good to see some action again, to relieve some of the tension that had been stockpiling for the last two months by pumping lead into the undead. At heart, all four were soldiers, and this was what they did best. Hell, it was their job.

With their resupply in Moscow, ammo stocks were plentiful, and even Richtofen was happy, as he finally had a chance to test out his new toy. "The Flogger", as he had called it, was a gigantic spinning wooden hammer, in essence, that smashed into the brainless zombies who walked straight into it, sending them flying several metres into the air and even further along the ground. Although it overheated every 5-7 minutes, it still brought a (mildly creepy) smile to the German's face. "Well, at least it's for the cause," thought Dempsey.

All in all, the undead assault seemed to be almost enjoyable for the four soldiers – that is, until the dogs crashed the party.

They had been firing at the zombies whilst Richtofen waited for the Flogger to cool down, when a sudden, and very much out of place, bolt of lightning struck no more than 20 metres from their location. The three stopped firing for a second in surprise, until a giant flaming black dog rushed out of the treeline, snarling and charging straight towards them. Surprise didn't hold back their firepower then.

When the dog keeled over and tumbled forwards into the ground, dead for a second time, the four had stared, wide-eyed. "I'm guessing that was Fluffy," was all Dempsey could salvage. The silence that followed indicated it was better than anything else the others could manage.

When more lightning bolts from the cloudless, green-blue sky heralded the arrival of more hellhounds, it became clear that playtime was over. The dogs were much faster than the zombies, and thus it would only take a well-timed attack for the group to be overrun.

"Hold them off for a little longer!" Richtofen said. "I shall go to prepare the truck. Be ready to make a hasty escape!"

"We can't keep them away for much longer!" Nikolai shouted in return. "You better make this quick!"

Richtofen dashed inside, and came back with a fantastically complicated, but extremely odd-looking contraption. He threw it at Dempsey. "Here! Be careful, it's still a prototype. Just aim and shoot, but stand well back!"

"What in the name of…" Dempsey thought as he quickly inspected the object. The bell shape at one end, the makeshift metal stock at the other and the unmistakable trigger was all that indicated to Tank that this… _thing_ was meant to be fired. "Well, here goes nothing…" He aimed the very dodgy sights at a cluster of zombies about 15 metres away, and tapped the trigger once. The end of the gun flew upwards with an unprecedented amount of kick. Luckily enough, one shot was all it needed, as a bolt of brilliant blue energy first electrocuted its target, then spread to obliterate all matter – living or dead – in its vicinity as well.

This day was just full of surprises. "That… was SWEET!" From the astounded faces of the other two, that just about summed it up.

With the new member in their arsenal, holding the gate until Richtofen arrived was no longer as much of an issue – indeed, when the rusty old Jeep had swerved round the corner, doors already open, Dempsey almost felt sad that his time with his new baby was over, at least, for now.

Their last view of the facility before they joined the dirt track leading to the freeway was the zombies clambering over the fences, up the roofs, through the doors, and overrunning the shack they had called 'home' for the last two months. The four didn't even feel remotely saddened, however. They were glad to finally have an excuse to jump ship.

As a silence fell over the truck, Dempsey decided it was time to have some answers. And there was only one man for the job. Leaning forward and tapping the shoulder of the driver, he addressed Richtofen in the manner which he usually reserved for interrogations.

"You, soldier, have a LOT of answering to do."

It was a few moments before Richtofen began to speak.

**There we are, guys! Hope you enjoyed - as always, feedback is very much appreciated. Thank you also to those who have followed and favourited, I'm much obliged (Bioshock4Life :) ). Will see you fellas next time!**

**Next stop: Der Riese :D**

**All the best,**

**- EdLoad**


End file.
